Chapter 15 #2
I saw the cropped, spaghetti strapped cami she was wearing when I walked in.
With her tall build, it shows an overly generous amount of her mid-drift, highlighting the dip of her waist and the thin, baby blue fabric does nothing to hide her nipple piercings.
But now I can see the short flannel sleep shorts she’s in, barely covering her ass and showing all of her long, toned legs.
I look up just in time to see her already watching me. Judging by the little smirk she gives me and hint of pink on her cheeks, I’m pretty sure she just caught me staring. Seems fair after the way she was staring at me in my home gym.
“Come on, this way,” she says, leading me toward the living room carrying both glasses of wine.
“I know where the TV is. My guesthouse, remember?” I raise my pierced eyebrow, but follow behind her.
Saying those shorts barely cover her ass is generous. I’m struggling to think of a view I’ve seen that I enjoy more than this one, which is saying something. I’ve paid millions for properties just because of the view and none of them are better than this.
She looks back catching me staring again, but grins to herself this time. “Seems like you’re a little distracted. Wanted to make sure you don’t get lost.”
God damnit. Is she flirting with me? I know I’m not exactly thinking straight because seeing all of her curves from her full tits, her waist, and down to the curve of her ass has all my blood leaving my brain and going south.
Still, there’s no way she’d be flirting with me.
She’s just that kind and friendly to everyone.
She makes everyone around her feel special and cared for.
That’s just how infectious her personality is.
This doesn’t have anything to do with me.
“Very funny.” I reach out and take the glass of wine from her, before sitting on the far end of the sectional couch. I stretch out along the chaise, kicking my shoes off and propping my feet up.
To my surprise, she sits down next to me. “Scooch over.”
Before I can even move, she’s pressed herself right against my side, stretching out next to me. My brain short circuits and my body goes rigid at the sudden, overwhelming amount of contact with her.
Her long, smooth bare legs touch mine. She rests her hand on her leg, but her fingertips graze my thigh.
I know it’s unintentional, but my swelling cock doesn’t know that.
The only thing going through my mind now is a desperate hope she doesn’t look at my lap because my thin lounge shorts are doing nothing to hide what she’s doing to me.
She must sense my reaction because she laughs, clinking her glass against mine. “Relax. I know it’s your house, but you’re not hogging the chaise all to yourself. I’ve been dying to get out of my van and stretch out for a change.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. OK. I know Grace clearly gives no shits about personal space and boundaries. I get it, I’m not great about it either. I’m a touchy, feely person — always shaking hands and bringing people in for hugs.
I can do this though. This is just sitting together on the couch, late at night, with a friend. A friend that you’re obsessed with. A friend who is barely wearing any clothes. Yeah, I can do this.
“So what are we watching?” I look up just in time to catch her eyes widening.
“Oh shit,” she says, her cheeks reddening as she reaches for the remote.
That’s when I see it. Right on the screen is a video from an old Teal Tigers concert, paused mid-frame on a close up of me.
I can’t contain the grin spreading across my face. Oh, this is good.
“Nope.” I lean forward, grabbing her wrist right before she can click the remote. “You’re going to tell me why you’re watching this in the middle of the night.”
Her shoulders sag and she groans in exasperation. “Fine. I was doing research.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Researching what? How I used to be way cooler and had fewer gray hairs?”
I can see her relax at my joke. That’s when our eyes go to my hand, still holding her wrist, my thumb rubbing the back of her hand. I loosen my grip, but she doesn’t immediately pull her hand away.
She takes a sip of her wine. “It’s going to sound silly.”
She sinks back into the couch and I note the subtle shade of red that’s still spread across her cheeks. I can’t look away. Those freckled cheeks, the way her bangs and hair frame her square face, and those stunning emerald green eyes that always seem to sparkle.
“Try me,” I say, slumping back into the couch matching her posture and taking a swig of my own wine.
Her eyes stay focused on my frozen image on screen, her lips curling into a warm smile. “I like to know what makes people tick. Especially when I’m working with them. Figuring out the kids I’d volunteer with, or learning what a donor is passionate about. You though? You’re different.”
“You mean because I’m a famous, washed-up rockstar?”
Her eyes flick back to me with a playful glare and she shoves me in my shoulder, melting my heart. “No, silly. You’re just harder to read.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It sounds so dumb, but I thought watching some of these old videos would help me figure you out a bit more.”
That little glimmer of hope that she might want to know more about me, for reasons outside of work, is crushed.
“Rainbow,” I say, my eyes locking onto hers. “If you ever want to know anything about me, just ask. That said,” I tilt my head toward the TV. “That was a good show. You can hit play, even if you’re going to make me feel old as shit watching this. Were you even born yet?”
We both settle into the couch, as the video resumes. She takes a drink from her glass and my eyes can’t look away from the way her lips part.
“For the record, you’re way cooler now, even if you don’t have the whole bad boy thing going on anymore. So knock it off with that self-deprecating shit, TJ.”
A deep laugh rumbles up from my chest, prompting her to look back at me like I have two heads.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, almost defensively.
“I was never a bad boy. Apparently you fell for my act, just like everyone else. It was great for selling magazines and albums. What do you kids call that now? Clickbait?
She grins at me before looking at the TV, pausing it at the opportune moment when I jumped across the stage and decided to kick an amplifier over. “Not a bad boy, huh?”
I wince and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, noting her eyes lingering on me. “OK. That looks bad, but still just an act.”
“You’re telling me the cut off flannels, pierced eyebrow, messy hair, and barbwire tattoo was all an act? You still dress like that and that tattoo is still very real. You’re telling me it was already just an act for you at that point? You had to be what, maybe twenty-five at that concert?”
I take a gulp from my glass and set it down on the coffee table to gesture at the screen. “You’re right. I could get pretty riled up on stage, performing. I’ll tell you what I remember about that concert though. Or after, I guess, if we’re being technical about it.”
She sits up, turning to face me and crossing her legs, her knees pressing into my thigh.
Her sudden focus on me makes my mouth go dry.
I remember what it felt like when she stared into my eyes all those months ago singing karaoke.
Or what it felt like having her listen to me on the river.
Knowing that she’s choosing to give me the time of day does things to me.
“We were back at our hotel. Vince and the other guys were up way too late partying. That’s why we always got adjoining but separate rooms. After a show, I always just wanted to go to bed.
That rush of adrenaline would wipe me out.
Sometimes if I was really still feeling it, I’d stay up and try to write. ”
“Vince was your drummer, right? And who was the guy that played bass?” she asks, looking eager for me to continue.
“Yeah, Vince,” I nod before continuing, “and that would be Stan on bass. So that night, I’m laying in bed.
I have a throbbing headache and my ears are still ringing.
I can’t fall asleep, then I hear shouting next door.
I get up and go into their room to find them all standing on the balcony looking down at the pool.
Fucking idiot, Vince, was convinced he could throw the hotel TV off the balcony and reach the pool.
It wouldn’t have been a huge deal if there weren’t people still down there. He’s lucky no one got hurt.”
Shock flashes across her face. “I remember hearing that story. You got banned from that hotel chain for that stunt. But everyone always blamed you.”
I grab my wine, smiling back at her, not saying a word.
Her lips part and I see the moment of realization. “You were just letting everyone think you were the troublemaker? Tommy Jacob, the bad boy frontman was all just an act?”
I clink my glass to hers. “You got it.”
The surprised smile she gives me is nearly blinding. “But why? Even as a kid, I knew your reputation from Veronica gushing over Teal Tigers to Tanner and Collin.”
“That’s exactly why I did it. The other guys, they had real problems. Drinking, drugs, rocky relationships.
Vince always meant well, but he was just so impressionable.
And Stan, well, he always thought the next girl was ‘the one’, getting distracted and missing sound checks.
It was hard enough keeping those things under wraps and the band together through it all.
I just wanted to keep everything together because I loved the music and performing so much.
I lived for writing songs and pouring my heart out on stage. ”
She still looks back at me with a mix of stunned disbelief, slapping me on my thigh. The impact quickly reminds me of my aching balls from what she does to me. “Who would have guessed the infamous Tommy Jacob was such a softy?”
“I never said I was soft.” I’m definitely anything but soft right now. I try not to focus on that thought as I grab the remote, pressing play and relaxing back into the couch. She doesn’t look back at the TV though, just fixed on me.
“You really covered for your friends like that for years?”
I shrug. “I was the kid that grew up in foster care, bouncing from home to home for years. The guys were all from nice neighborhoods and had money growing up. No one batted an eye that I was the bad boy in Teal Tigers.”
She leans forward to top off our wine before readjusting back next to me, still pressed against my side. This close, I can smell her shampoo — a mix of lavender and lemon that I know I’ll never forget.
“Where did the name Teal Tigers come from?” she asks, keeping her eyes on the TV, but resting her head on my shoulder. “I’ve heard rumors, but are any of them true?”
Jesus. I know she’s not one for physical boundaries and I’m probably reading too much into it, but sitting with her like this feels intimate and I like it.
Snorting a laugh, I think back to those early days when we were just riffing in garages.
“That’s another Vince story. He was drunk one night and kept saying he wanted to see a ‘real tiger’.
He was slurring so bad, it just sounded like he kept saying ‘teal’.
Teal Tiger. I guess his parents never took him to a zoo or something.
Anyway, we never let him live that down. Clearly.”
She laughs to herself and I can feel the vibration in my own chest, craving everything about her being this close. “He sounds like quite the character.”
I think back on some of the better memories from those days, reminding myself they weren’t all bad. “Yeah, he was. Still is. You’ll actually get to meet him soon.”
She doesn’t lift her head, but her eyes flick up to mine. “Is he coming here?”
“Nope. We’re going to a party for the new restaurant that Slade is opening in Seattle. You’ll get to meet Jake in person too.” I point back to the screen. “On that note, I should probably give you the run down on the rest of the guys that worked with the band that might be there.”
I grab the remote and start typing out the letters, searching for a different video I want her to see. If she wants to get to know that time in my life, I know just what to show her.
“You know, you could just look up the video on your phone, then stream it to the TV. So much faster that way.” She smirks up at me and adds, “Boomer.”
“Very funny, Rainbow.” I tap her on the head with the remote, rolling my eyes at her. “Again, I’m not that ancient. Technically, I’m a millennial, just a geriatric one.”
She rests her head down on my shoulder, pulling a blanket over herself while the video I was looking for buffers.
My attention stays solely on her as the video starts to play.
This close, I take in the winding tattoo of vines and flowers, starting at her elbow, working its way up and over her shoulder and down her back, below her cami.
It’s a beautiful mix of brightly colored flowers and greenery, but that’s not what catches my eye.
It’s the barely noticeable, but slightly dulled patches of her skin under the tattoo, maybe the scars from the car accident she was in as a teen.
I find myself desperately fighting the urge to reach out and run my fingers over that skin, wishing I could soothe away whatever pain she once felt.
Touching her like that — caressing her skin — feels like a line I shouldn’t cross though, as much as I want to.
On screen, the band walks out on stage and I remember it like it was yesterday. Miles is standing just off stage, and I get a sinking feeling in my chest. I let out a deep breath, trying not to dwell on the upcoming party for the restaurant, seeing my former band, and everything that comes with it.
Grace turns to me and my face must be giving away my feelings, because she narrows her eyes on me. “You don’t look thrilled about watching this.”
I sigh and take another drink of my wine. “I know Miles will be there and I still haven’t given him an answer about this reunion tour.”
She raises her brows and her lips part in surprise. “You’re still hung up on that seven months later?”